


Best Seat in the House

by J_Q



Series: TIMELESS [10]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, domestic life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 20:04:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14655186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Q/pseuds/J_Q
Summary: Ian takes a walk down memory lane. Set in Timeless, where Mickey and Ian first get together in season 7 and live happily ever after.





	Best Seat in the House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sdstewart7981](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdstewart7981/gifts).



> For sdstewart7981 and all the time we've spent on our couch.

Snow, snow, snow. Ian stared out the living room window at the white world. How could something so beautiful be such a pain in the ass? He’d been cooped up alone for almost 24 hours, and he’d be the first to admit that he sucked at that. Given too much time to think alone, he always found a way to fret, worry, blow things out of proportion. Having Mickey and Yev around kept him occupied and grounded. Plus he fucking loved them. Win win.

He turned to the kitchen and checked the clock on the microwave. Almost 8:00 pm. Damn, he was gonna be alone for another night. Mickey had been planning to return home tonight after checking on one of Rack It’s storefront locations in St Louis, but the ceaseless snowing had put a stop that. Or so he thought. He hadn’t heard from Mickey in a couple hours.

In the hotel bar drinking beer with other gun nuts probably. As much as Ian wanted to nag and bug him for attention, he figured Mickey could stand a night without his needy husband hounding him every five minutes for attention, but he wasn’t gonna wait all night for Mickey’s full and undivided attention. He’d wait a bit longer. Like at least an hour. Yeah, an hour.

So what was he gonna do until then?

He flopped down on the couch with a giant sigh of frustration…plus a little pleasure. Just before Mick had left for the St Louis trip, their new couch had arrived. It was really their first actual purchase where they went to a store and priced out things, talking about it and making a decision. Everything else in their house was either a hand me down or a thrift store purchase. Owning a house was fucking expensive, furnishing it was another story.

He ran his hands along the smooth leather, but it felt a little too stiff. They’d work it in eventually, he thought. He laid down on it, propping his head on the rounded arm, but the angle was off. He’d get used to it, he told himself. He jumped up and stepped back, eying the piece of furniture. Did that shade of grey match the rest of the room? He frowned.

When they’d first started talking about getting a new couch, or rather when Ian first started working on Mickey to agree to getting a new couch, Ian’s main argument was that the couch was a major player in their lives. He’d followed Mickey around the house for days reminding him about all the time they spent on the couch. Right around reason 962, Mickey had agreed. He’d spit the toothpaste out of his mouth and looked at Ian reflected in the bathroom mirror. “Fine. Just shut the fuck up about it. I never wanna hear the word _couch_ again.”

So they’d looked up a few furniture stores, and much to Mick’s delight settled on a couch made by La-Z Boy, which he felt would be the best fit for the style of reclining he was into. Now that the couch had arrived, Ian was trying to adjust to the new piece of furniture. Maybe he just needed Mick and Yev here to help him break it in. But at the moment, it left him feeling empty. He tried to not let the sudden onslaught of regret choke him. Instead he would just focus on the many reasons he had given Mickey for wanting a new couch.

\----

 

**T-rex Hates Push-ups**

“Grab napkins, Mickey. You put too much butter on this popcorn,” Ian shouted from the living room where he was stuffing popcorn in his mouth and adjusting the lamp for movie level lighting. “Yev! Movie’s about to start.”

Once he had the ambiance just how they liked it, Ian dropped down to the couch leaning heavily against the arm and bringing his legs up into a crossed position where the giant metal popcorn bowl could sit comfortably. He reached out to the coffee table for the remote and pushed play. “Starting without you guys!”

As the MGM lion roared loudly from the flat screen tv, Ian glanced up from the popcorn bowl to lick his fingers which were slathered in butter and salt. But his fingers froze before they reached his mouth as the mood in the room switched from a relaxed family movie night to a tense showdown between father and son. Ian’s eyes shifted from the narrowed blue eyes of his husband, who was standing at the entrance to the kitchen, to the wide blue eyes of his son, who was standing at the entrance to the hallway.

It was a Milkovich face-off.

Mickey lifted his thumb to his nose rubbing the pad over a nostril as his shoulders hunched forward. Yev sucked his bottom lip into the spot where once he had a tooth as his chest heaved a deep breath, drawing attention to the dinosaur on his pajama top announcing that “T-rex hates push-ups”.

Ian lifted the popcorn bowl from his lap, frantically searching for a safe place to ditch it. Before he could make a decision, the race was on and all he could do was brace himself for impact. Mickey actually leapt over the coffee table at the same moment that Yev jumped onto the opposite end of the couch. Ian lifted the popcorn bowl over his head in time for Mickey to land in his lap. Despite the force of the impact, only a few kernels sloshed from the bowl onto the couch as Ian clenched his thighs, attempting to protect his junk from the onslaught of Mickey’s ass. An irony that was not lost on him.

As Mickey adjusted slightly, so he could fit better in the space created by Ian’s folded legs, he smirked at his son with a wicked gleam in his eye. Yev knew what he was dealing with and took the loss of his pretzel chair like a man…for about 10 seconds. He took a deep breath and stared at the tv screen, watching the opening credits of a new animated alien movie. Then his little legs started kicking the front of the couch in an agitated pattern. Ian watched him try to bite his lip, then sniffle a little when he remembered that he didn’t have any front teeth to bite with. He crossed his arms over his chest briefly before forming tight fists and smacking them into the couch cushions.

Ian reached around his man-child husband to offer his other man-child the popcorn bowl. At first, Yev shook his head denying himself any creature comforts in the face of this injustice but changed his mind when he realized that it was lonely on his end of the couch and he could use some comfort food. He set the bowl in his lap, grabbed a handful of popcorn and started pushing as much in his mouth as possible, oblivious to the kernels dotting his pajamas and the worn grey couch cushions.

After two handfuls, he gave up and rested his head on the back of the couch rolling it slowly to the side, so he could look at his dads through his lashes. His chin wobbled a little, but he said nothing.

Ian pinched Mickey through the pajama bottoms covering his meaty thigh, and in retaliation, Mickey adjusted his ass to fit snuggly in Ian’s lap. Really snuggly.

“Dick,” Ian muttered.

“Later,” Mickey replied. “Hey Yev.”

“What?” he responded but turned away from Mickey.

“Why does T-rex hate push ups?”

Unable to resist any opportunity to talk dinosaur, even with his current archenemy, Yev sat up a little straighter. “Cause he has such little arms, but I think it’s wrong,” he added setting the popcorn bowl on the cushion beside him and squishing his chin into his chest to see his shirt. “The arms were super strong.”

“What’d he use ‘em for then?” Mickey asked.

“To grasp his struggling prey,” Yev explained, pulling his elbows into his ribs and forming three claws with his little fingers. “He’d get ‘em in a hold and slash at them.” Yev whipped his claws at Mickey’s knee, adding a deep, menacing bellow.

“Frightening,” Mickey said pulling his elbows toward his chest and attacking Yev with his own little arms. He pulled Yev toward him, but they ended up toppling forward tipping the bowl of popcorn and spilling half of it on the couch.

“Hey,” Ian complained. “Watch it. Gonna get butter on the cushion.”

But the battling dinosaurs ignored him. Yev’s low bellow became a loud screeching when Mickey’s claws dug into his ribs and his teeth attempted to gnaw on his earlobe. Before the battle could turn deadly though, Mickey feigned a weakened state and let Yev get out from under him, so he could pin his father to the couch.

“I win!” he yelled lifting his miniature arms as high as they would go. His eyes shot to Ian’s legs then back to his dad, who lifted his eyebrows in challenge. Ian could see what Yev was thinking like actual thought bubbles above his head. Could he claim the pretzel throne without incurring his father’s wrath?

Ian reached a hand out to Yev’s arm intending to pull him into his lap. As much as he lived for full access to Mickey’s ass, this spot belonged to his boy. He’d get his man in his lap later.

While Mickey brushed the spilled popcorn back into the bowl, Yev moved out of the way to allow his dad to return to the coveted spot. Ian wanted to protest but had to respect whatever exchange was going on between the two of them.

“Wanna trade spots, Yev? Turns out I don’t fit so good.”

“Really?” he asked wistfully but wasted no time getting into position. He wasn’t taking any chances on his dad changing his mind.

With the popcorn bowl back in Yev’s lap and his little body snuggled into his favorite chair, he and Ian  tossed kernels of popcorn into Mickey’s mouth as he reclined on the couch arm with his feet on Ian’s thigh.

 

 

**Bitch**

Ian listened to the creak of the stairs as he lay on the couch. The sounds were so familiar to him that he could tell which step Mickey was on at any given moment. So when the creaking stopped, he knew that his husband had paused three steps from the bottom. Ian waited, hoping and dreading he’d hear those last three creaks.

The lightweight blanket was currently warming his shoulders, while his toes were turning to ice cubes. The soft material wasn’t long enough to cover his 6-foot frame, so he’d been alternating warming the top and bottom of his body. The fact that he was inadequately covered was pissing him off and feeding the frustrated pettiness that currently had a grip on his psyche. His frozen toes were yet another injustice to lay at Mickey’s feet.

Rehashing the chain of events that resulted in him sleeping on the couch both enraged him and mortified him. On the one hand, Mickey could be such a fucking shit sometimes that it took all of Ian’s patience to not turn him over his knee and actually spank his ass, without any intention of also fucking it. On the other hand, the shit his husband pulled was mostly insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t like he fucked around or disappeared for days or laid around jobless. He loved Ian a fucking lot and had basically dedicated himself to their life together.

And all this just made Ian madder. He wanted to be pissed off because he felt like Mickey didn’t always take him seriously, that he figured Ian was too emotional and overreacted to shit. Maybe he did get caught up in stuff, but not everyone was a master at shutting out all the little things like the jerk he married. And now Ian was full circle again. Round and round his mind went.

He wanted to meet Mickey on the 3rd step and forget this dumb fight because now he wasn’t gonna be able to sleep. It wasn’t like storming out of the bedroom with the intention of spending the rest of the night on the couch would ultimately help Ian’s campaign. Instead, he was left cold and lonely and fully awake.

He curled his toes in the crack between the cushion and the arm of the couch. Then he heard another creak and another. It sounded like Mickey was heading back upstairs, and Ian’s heart squeezed, so he turned his face into the little throw pillow and let out a groan of frustration. If he went back upstairs now, he’d feel like he didn’t get his point across. If he stayed downstairs, he might get his point across, but he’d be miserable doing it. Fuck.

The stairs creaked again, louder this time and without hesitation. Then Mickey was standing at the foot of the couch staring at him with crossed arms and aggressive eyebrows. “You gonna spend the whole night down here?” he grumbled.

“You gonna call me a bitch every time you think I’m being emotional?” he countered pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

“Probably.”

Ian glanced at him in disbelief, partly at the futility of arguing with Mickey and partly in awe at his dedication to being exactly who he was without apology. But mostly at the futility.

“Probably. Because I’m kind of a dick that way.”

Ian nodded in agreement but felt all the frustration vanish. Resistance was futile.

“I love dick.”

Mickey came to stand over him looking down at Ian. “I thank god for that everyday.” He crouched down until he could get in Ian’s face. “You coming to bed where you belong now?”

“Yeah, but only because my feet are cold,” Ian teased.

“Then you can stay here cause they aren’t getting anywhere near my calves, man.”

“We both know that’s not true,” he countered sitting up and swinging the cold appendages to the floor. Mickey reached a hand down to feel the temperature of Ian’s feet and shuddered.

“That’s what you get for leaving me alone in bed,” he stated shaking his head but at the same time lifting Ian’s cold feet into his lap and rubbing some life into them. “I fucking hate it when you do that, Ian.”

“I’m sorry, but I get so mad sometimes.”

“Cause I’m a dick.” Mickey’s hands moved up Ian’s bare legs along his calves and the sides of his thighs. “It’s my defense mechanism.”

Ian could feel warm hands beneath his boxers wrapping around his hips, but his eyes were locked on Mickey’s face. “What?”

“That’s what Svet said the other day,” he grumbled watching his hands move over Ian’s skin. “She was mad again about fuck knows what, something about me being a dick.” They smiled at each other.

“So what does it mean?” Ian asked even though he figured he knew. To encourage Mickey to continue, he moved his feet back to the floor and spread his knees making room for Mickey to press between them.

“I googled it. Means I do shit to avoid unwanted feelings.” He shrugged. “Sometimes that shit hurts people. Like my guy.”

Ian sat forward and Mickey met him halfway. Their hands were on each other rubbing over exposed skin. “Are you having any unwanted feelings right now?” Ian asked trying to flirt a little to lighten the mood and keep Mickey from shutting down if things got to heavy.

“Not anymore. Laying in bed, staring at the ceiling waiting for you to come back to bed was an unwanted fucking feeling. Partly because I hate that bed when you’re not in it, but also cause it was my own fucking fault I was alone. Wanted to kick my own ass.”

“Took you forever to come get me,” Ian complained as their foreheads rested against each other.

“Was hoping you’d miss me too much to stay down here.”

“Five more minutes and I was gonna cave.”

“Damn, should a held on a little longer.”

“Next time, you’ll know my limit.”

“Better not be a fucking next time,” Mickey said lifting his eyebrows for emphasis.

Ian rested his fingers on Mickey’s chest, tracing the letters engraved into the tattoo. “Then don’t make fun of my feelings.”

“I wasn’t, man. I just don’t know what to do with them sometimes. I wanna fix shit but don’t know how.”

“You don’t have to fix anything.” But he smiled at the sentiment.

“Why you gotta have so many fucking emotions?”

“I’m human,” Ian smiled into Mickey’s lips as they finally met. “You have them too. I see them on your face all the time. You’re the only one who thinks you don’t.”

“Maybe. But I know I have one for sure.”

“Which one?”

“Love.”

 

 

**My Two Dads**

Ian could hear muttering and cursing coming from the living room, and nobody could mutter and curse quite like his husband. Expert level, in fact. He’d been sent into the living room with the laptop to complete an on-line form for Yev’s school. So Ian could imagine any number of things in that scenario that could set Mickey off on a tangent.

Following the string of f-bombs, Ian found himself standing at the foot of the couch watching Mickey pluck at the laptop keys, a perpetual frown on his handsome face. Ian loved that face, every experience Mickey had was reflected in his features, and right now the experience appeared to be frustration.

“Stupid forms,” he grumbled when Ian sat down beside him. “Fuck sake, how the hell we suppose to fill this shit out?”

“What’s the problem?” Ian craned his neck to see the screen and let his hand slide between Mickey’s legs in the process.

“Why’s it always say mom and dad? If we didn’t have Svet, who would be the mom?” he complained. “Well, you obviously. But still, the principle of the thing, ya know?”

“Me?”

Mickey shrugged. “You do all the mom shit around here.”

“What exactly is mom shit?”

“Like cooking and remembering to fill out forms.”

“Why’s that mom shit?”

“I don’t make the rules, Ian.”

“Ha! You don’t follow them either, Mickey.”

“Well, apparently there’s a rule for this fucking form, and you’re making me fill it out, so you gotta follow the rule too.”

“This conversation makes no sense.”

“Exactly.”

Ian could see the little smile at the corners of Mickey’s lips. “What’s the form about anyway?”

“Puberty and Sex Ed.”

“Oh!” Ian absorbed that for a moment. Imagining their son’s face, just as serious at 12 as it had been at 6. “He’s gonna hate that.”

“Should we ditch the form and save him from the torture?” Mickey asked, and Ian wondered if it was more out of a desire to not have to finish completing the form.

“He’s gotta know about all that stuff. We haven’t hidden anything from him, but we also haven’t really talked about it. Has he hit puberty?”

“How the fuck should I know? Haven’t seen him naked in like a year.”

“He’s up in the shower right now. Maybe we should go have a chat.”

“Or we could just fill out this form.”

Ian had to laugh. Now the form didn’t seem so bad to Mickey. “Come on, let’s get it over with.”

They made their way up the stairs toward the main bathroom like two men being sent to the gallows. Just as they arrived outside the door, the shower stopped and Mickey turned toward Ian pleading in his eyes. “You do it, man. I’ll be here for moral support.”

“Sorry, baby. This is dad shit.” Ian couldn’t hold back he jubilant smile.

Scowling, Mickey turned toward the door. “Yev!”

“Dad?”

“Both dads. We need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

Mickey hesitated, then turned to Ian. “Yeah? About what?”

“Um, ask him if he’s getting hair?”

“No fucking way!” But Ian gave his shoulder a push and pointed at the door. “Dad wants to know—” He was cut off by a hard pinch to the little spare tire he was currently sporting. “Fuck, Ian,” he spat. “We wanna know if you’re getting hair.”

“Hair for what?”

Mickey started with the nervous ticks, licking his lips and rubbing his nose. “On your family fucking jewels, man.”

Silence. Complete and utter.

“Do you think he should have hair?” Ian pondered. “Did you have hair at 12?”

“I don’t fucking remember. Did you?”

“Um, maybe,” he shrugged. “It’s normal, Yev, if you are. But if it hasn’t started to happen yet, that’s also normal,” Ian explained through the door, getting no response.

“Okay, what else?” Mickey asked. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Now ask him about his foreskin.”

Mickey’s eyes bugged out. “What about it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have a foreskin.”

“Neither do I.” They stared at each other. Mickey flicking his eyebrow in exasperation; Ian gesturing toward the closed door in impatience. “Dad definitely wants to know the status of your foreskin.”

“You want me to pinch you again?” Ian threatened.  “Do you think he crawled out the window?”

“Nah, he’s waiting us out, hoping we go away in frustration.”

“Okay, what else? We already got him deodorant and he doesn’t need to shave,” Ian was lifting his fingers as though he were counting items. Mickey was watching and wondering how many items could be on this list.

“Boners?” Mickey asked.

“Right, yeah, good one. Ask about that.”

“For fuck sake,” he mumbled. “Yev, you getting any boners, man?”

The radio silence from the other side of the door was absolute.  

“Maybe we should just talk to him about stuff instead of asking him questions,” Ian suggested.

“What? You want me to tell him about my boners and pubic hair?”

“Well, not specifically, but just in general.”

“About my boners in general?”

“About all boners in general. Not just yours.”

“And tell him what exactly? What to do about it? Where to put it or not put it?”

“I guess we should cover that too.”

“That?” Mickey was shaking his head.

“Sex. Intercourse.”

“I draw the line at vaginas.”

“We need to get him out of the bathroom. This is too awkward through the door.”

“Yev, goddamn it, open the door.”

Ian pushed in front of Mickey and knocked lightly on the door. “Hey, buddy, we gotta talk about this stuff. It’s gonna come up in school soon and we want you to be prepared. We’re not trying to torture you, Yev, but you need to answer our questions.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Mickey nodded at him. “Yev, listen to your mom.”

Ian elbowed Mickey in the ribs, so Mickey smacked Ian on the ass. Then Ian lifted his hand to smack him back, but Mickey swatted Ian’s hand out of the way. They started to scuffle a little with Mickey trying to get Ian in a headlock. And the bathroom door opened revealing Yev’s pinched face. He watched his dads swat and grab at each other until they noticed him there and paused like guilty children.

With head held high, Yev moved between them, so they had to follow his partially dressed body as he walked toward his bedroom exchanging looks the whole way. Once there, Yev pulled a book off his tall shelf loaded down with books. “I think you guys should read this.” He handed the book to Mickey then turned to his dresser opening his t-shirt drawer.

Ian glanced over Mickey’s shoulder at the book cover, _What’s Happening to My Body for Boys_. So they made their way down the stairs to the living room where they sat on the couch learning about puberty and sex education. A little while later, Ian received a text from Yev: Let me know if you have any questions.

 

 

**Whiskey and Women**

“Why don’t we go out for dinner more often?” Ian asked from the passenger’s seat of their car. “I’m tired of thinking of shit to have for every meal.”

“But you’re such a good cook,” Mickey responded smiling at his cleverness.

“I call bullshit, Mick. You just want to butter me up, so I keep cooking.” But his attention was on his phone screen. “Mandy is on a date.”

“What else is new?” Mickey switched lanes to make the right-hand turn to their street. “Who’s the poor bastard this time?”

“Kurt,” Ian replied. “Apparently, he’s a plumber. She had to hire him to fix her kitchen drain.”

“Yeah? He got plumber’s crack?” Mickey laughed at his joke but looked at Ian’s fingers. “You asking her that? Tell her not to send a picture if he does. Don’t need to see that shit.”

“Um, too late,” Ian whistled. “Wow.”

“What? You looking at his crack, man?” Mickey sounded disapproving but leaned over to glance at the phone. “Shit.”

“Right? I’ll tell her he’s a keeper,” Ian replied tapping quickly into the phone screen.

“So, you like that?” Mickey asked aiming for nonchalant but missing by a mile.

“Do I like what, Mick? His ass?”

“Whatever.”

Ian pressed his lips together to keep the smile from his face. “Well, let me take a closer look.” He flicked two fingers over the glass screen enlarging the photo and added a few hums and haws. From the corner of his eye, he could see Mickey tapping the wheel impatiently. Then the tapping hand reached out to grab the phone from Ian’s grip. Mickey brought it closer to his face and frowned before dropping it into the cupholder.

Ian looked thoughtfully at the phone assessing the photo of tight fitting Levi's. “It’s a 6, maybe a 7 based on the 10 by which I judge all asses.” When Mickey just looked at him, he added, “I’m thinking that I don’t spend enough time worshipping that 10, if you’re having doubts. Yep, I know what we’re gonna be doing when we get home. Or rather I know what I’m gonna be doing.”

“Whatcha think you’ll be doing?”

“I’m gonna start with—why is the porch light on?”

Mickey frowned at the house as he slid the gear shift into park. “Fucked if I know.”

Once they made their way to the front door, Ian inserted the key into the deadbolt but looked at Mickey in surprise when the bolt didn’t need turning to gain entrance. “Yev must be home,” he said.

“He get tired of Iggy’s shenanigans?”

“Shenanigans?” Ian laughed as he pushed the front door to their house open. “Hello?” Voices carried from what sounded like the living room. “Yev?”

“What the fuck?” Mickey said, pushing Ian aside so he could enter first. Like any good Southsider, they kept a baseball bat at the front door for non-sport related purposes. Mickey had it in his hand and was moving down the hallway toward the living room. “Show your fucking face or I’ll fucking beat it in until even your own mother won’t love you.”

“Subtle, Mick,” Ian smirked, but he was checking out the stairs and little front closet.

Just then Iggy’s round face appeared in the hallway and smiled at them. Guiltily. “Hey, guys.”

“Why you look all sneaky and shit?” Mickey lowered the bat but kept his piercing eyes on Iggy’s face. “Where’s Yev?”

“How was dinner?” Iggy asked in a sing-song voice.

Mickey poked the end of the bat into his brother’s chest and gave it a little shove pushing him back in the direction he’d come from. “Answer me, prick.”

“Yev’s in the living room, bro. S’all good.” Iggy’s fingers tightened around the end of the bat and tried yanking it out of Mickey’s hand. A little tug-o-war developed until Ian stepped between them and pulled the bat away.

“What’d you do, Iggy?” Mickey asked flicking his eyebrows at his brother menacingly, but Iggy had been looking at those opinionated brows most of his life and he obviously wasn’t impressed.

“Why you think I did anything?”

“Dads!” Yev yelled, and the three men followed his voice to the living room. Throwing an arm around Iggy’s shoulders, Yev smiled at his fathers. “Y’ home. I’m home too.”

Stale alcohol fumes hit Ian in the face, and he knew exactly when they hit Mickey because he reached down for the bat in Ian’s hand. “Are you drunk?” Ian asked his son.

“Don’ think so. I only ha’ some beer,” he slurred smiling hugely and looking down at Iggy from the handful of inches he had on his uncle. “An’ maybe s’ whiskey?” A repulsed look passed over his fine features. “I’s yukky.”

“Yeah? How’d you get your hands on beer and whiskey?” Mickey asked looking straight at Iggy.

“I’n gon’ be 16 soon, Dad. Time f’ me to be a man.”

“Who told you that shit?” Mickey barked.

“Wasn’t me, Mick,” Iggy announced holding up his hands in surrender. “16 seems a little late to start drinking. In my opinion.”

“E’ryone drinks. Don’ be a fuddy duddy, Daddy,” he laughed then swayed a little. “’m gon’ sit down.” He fell back onto the couch with a grunt taking Iggy with him. Closing his eyes, he groaned, “Room’s spinnin’ Dad. I don’t like it.”

 “Jesus, kid.”

They watched Yev blink open his eyes and try to refocus on the room.

“The fuck, Iggy?”

“The kid was fuckin’ upset, Mick. His girl is datin’ someone else,” Iggy explained. “Whiskey and women, bro. Figured someone had to teach him that since, well, you know—” He waved his free hand between Mickey and Ian.

“Olivia?” Ian asked moving closer to the couch. “What happened, Yevvy?”

“She’s ‘n a date t’night, Dad,” Yev sniffed looking up at Ian with a sheen of tears.

“I thought you guys decided you were just friends.”

“She’s m’ best friend ‘n now she’s gonna be in looooove.”

“Aw, buddy.” Ian perched on the edge of the couch beside Yev. “She can still be your best friend and date someone, Yev.”

“Not if she’s in love,” he disagreed and pointed an accusing finger first at Ian then at Mickey. “Y’ two don’t have other best friends. Barely have friends t’all.”

Iggy nodded his agreement. “Kid knows what he’s on about.”

“That’s only because we’re each other’s best friends, Yevvy, and we love each other,” Ian tried to explain. “But if your dad had a different best friend, I wouldn’t—well, it would be—”

“See!” Yev moaned flopping his head against the back of the couch dramatically. “I’s over. We’ve been together f’ ten years, Dad. The best ten years a m’ life.”

Suddenly, he sat up, panic in his eyes just as he threw up on the couch right beside Ian, who leapt out of the way. Iggy started gagging and carrying on like he was gonna hurl next. After a tension-filled moment where all four of them stared at the cushion, Yev announced tearfully, “I’m gon’ go to bed, Dads.”

“Good idea, kid. It’s your lucky night, Uncle Ig is gonna have a sleep over,” Mickey announced cutting Iggy off mid-sentence. “Kid’s got a sleeping bag in his closet with your name on it, _bro_.”

While Ian hosed down the cushion, Mickey made sure his son and brother got settled in. Then they met in their bedroom. “Fucking Iggy,” Mickey griped.

“His heart was in the right place,” Ian suggested shutting the bedroom door behind them.

“His brain ain’t,” Mickey countered making his way to the closet.

Ian dropped his wallet on the dresser and gave his belt a tug but halted his movements to watch Mickey getting undressed. “Hey, you think we should branch out and get more friends and stuff?” he asked.

“Fuck that. I ain’t sharin’ you with anyone,” Mickey complained from inside the closet where he was dropping his clothes.

“Come on out of that closet.”

“Ian, that was barely funny the first time you said it.”

“Repetition is the key to comedy, Mick. Repetition is—”

“I’m gonna lock myself in this closet.”

“Come here,” Ian pulled him forward, so he could wrap his arms around his naked man. “Seriously, maybe we should think about making more friends. We could go on a double date with Mandy.”

“And Kurt’s ass?”

“Worse ways to spend an evening.” Ian laughed when Mickey scowled. “Speaking of asses.”

 

 

**Orgasm in Jeans**

“Jesus, next time I agree to help Lip with fundraising, shoot me in the head,” Ian sighed while flopping back onto the couch beside Mickey, his long, jean clad legs stretching out in front of him. “God, I ran into a regular from Boystown and his wife. Hate when that shit happens. Felt good to know how far I’ve come from those days though.”

Mickey linked their fingers between them on the couch and listened to Ian talk for another minute or two until he started saying things like alumni and donor lists. Then he was done listening.

He flipped his leg over Ian’s thigh and mashed their bodies together. “I’m so fucking horny and you’re so fucking late.”

“I see that,” Ian responded fingers digging into Mickey’s hips to bring his husband’s erection closer to his body. “Are the two related because, if so, I’ll never be on time again.”

The force of Mickey’s kiss pushed Ian’s head into the soft material of the couch cushion as warm hands reached under his shirt and rubbed along his ribs. “Get your shirt off, man.”

When Ian wasn’t fast enough, Mickey grabbed at the soft material separating himself from Ian’s chest. He ran his hands over muscle before pulling his own shirt off. Then they were pressed together. Chest to chest. Lip to lip.

“Lay down,” Mickey commanded yanking on Ian’s shoulders until he was prone on the couch beneath him. “Fuck, yeah.” With one foot on the floor, he had the purchase he needed to start rutting against Ian. His hands dug into the arm rest of the couch on either side of Ian’s head, and his hips rocked frantically against his husband’s. He tried to join their lips to complete the connection, but the movement required to build up the friction he was seeking meant he couldn’t keep their lips attached.

Instead he used his unoccupied mouth to tell Ian what was on his mind. “Gonna need it good and hard, Ian. No fucking around.”

“Gotta get you ready,” he replied grabbing at the frantically moving hips trying to get his hands inside Mickey’s jeans.

“I’m good to go, been working myself. Had some pretty fucking spectacular fantasies going on too, man.” Mickey jumped off of Ian and started undoing his own jeans.

“Jesus. What were you fantasizing about?” Ian followed his lead, pushing the denim over his hips and raising his legs in the air to try to get his feet out of the narrow material.

“Fantasizing about your goddamn tongue.”

“My tongue?” Ian lowered his legs, entangled in material, to the couch and stared motionless at Mickey. “What about it?” he asked wide eyed.

“Inside me.” Mickey’s jeans were off, and he grabbed for Ian’s ankle.

“I was eating you out?” Ian kicked his legs toward Mickey. “Fuck, help me get these things off. Come on, Mick.”

“Why do you wear these tight ass fucking pants, man?” Mickey had a hold of Ian’s left leg and was working the material over his foot.

“You like them. Used to call me an orgasm in jeans,” he reminded Mickey. Then pushed his right foot into Mickey’s chest.

“Yeah, fucking hot as hell. But I’m gonna have a goddamn orgasm in my jeans in about 30 seconds.”

“Cause you’re thinking about my tongue inside you?” Mickey all but ripped the offending material off Ian’s legs. “Oh god, can I?”

“No time for that shit, man,” he grabbed the lube and squeezed a puddle in his hand. “I need that cock inside me yesterday.” With that he’s on Ian and his hand is getting them ready.

“Come on, baby. I need to get my mouth down—,” Ian complained between moans as Mickey slid down his length. But Mickey’s hand clamped down on his mouth stopping all sound.

“Shut the hell up, Ian. I want this to last at least one fucking minute, and that ain’t gonna happen if you keep talking.”

Ian’s eyes widened, and Mickey grinned. “Cat got your tongue, Gallagher?” Then that tongue poked out and ran along Mickey’s fingers. “Fuck. God. Hit it. Fucking harder, man. Jesus, I’m gonna come so fucking hard, I might pass out.”

Ian lifted his feet to the couch and pushed them into the cushions, practically lifting Mickey off the couch with each thrust. “Damn it, I fucking love you so fucking much. Now fucking jerk me off. Come on Ian. Hurry the fuck up.”

Ian’s teeth bit into his finger and Mickey came with a shout that might have woken the neighbours. Ian managed two more thrusts before he was done, gasping into the hand still covering his mouth.

Mickey slumped over until he was tucked between the couch back and his husband, oblivious to the stickiness and the chill in the air. Ian pulled the blanket over their torsos and let himself worry later about the mess on the couch and the kink starting to form in his neck.

\----

 

Ian stared at the new couch where there should have been old stains and worn material and frayed edges. Damn it, he fucked up. He wanted his old couch and all the memories contained within its shabby, worn cushions. Grabbing his phone to text Mickey, he heard the front door opening, so he dropped the phone to the table and rushed to the front hallway. Mickey was grumbling and kicking snow off his boots. He dropped his duffel bag to the floor and looked up at Ian, who wasn’t even gonna try to keep his shit together. Still in his heavy winter coat and snow-covered boots, Mickey had to brace himself for his husband’s full body hug.

“Jesus, Gallagher, I’ve only been gone for a day,” he chided but his cold hands made their way under Ian’s sweatshirt. “Can I take my fucking boots off?”

“Sorry,” Ian said and pulled away.

“I’m just giving ya shit. Come here.” He unzipped his jacket, so Ian could get his arms inside and around him, then they just rocked a little. “This seems like more than just you needing to feel this tight sweet body.”

Ian laughed a little into his neck. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking—”

“I fucking knew it. That’s why I drove through all that white shit to get home.” He found Ian’s lips with his own. “Gonna undo the king’s fucking ransom we’ve paid in therapy if you keep thinking.”

Ian moved behind Mickey and pulled his jacket down his arms.

“You wanna get my slippers while you’re at it?” he snickered, bending down to the laces on his boots. “My feet are fucking freezing. We need a new car.”

“We need our old couch back.”

“What?” Mickey grunted as he yanked one boot off.

“Our old couch.”

“Yeah, I heard you. But think I might a lost my mind.” The second boot hit the floor.

“Ha ha. You were right.”

“I have officially lost my mind. They say you’re always the last to know.”

Ian was mashing his lips together and blinking rapidly.

“Okay, Ian, ya wanna tell me what is going on in that head of yours?”

“I was thinking about all the memories of our life together that have happened on that old couch and how I just callously tossed it aside,” he answered with a big shrug.

“Get me my slippers and a beer, no two, and meet me in the living room. You can tell me all about it while we see about making some new memories.”

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Doddz for her red pen and the title of this story. This pretzel chair is for you.
> 
> And another thank you to Stars_fall_on for requesting the sex talk. Sometimes being the parent is hard work. Just ask Yev.
> 
> Up next is another WIP, see you all very soon.


End file.
